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glance his way, Cesare Fonte turned a dull red, as if in embarrassment.
    ‘Agnese? She has not come. She does not enjoy such affairs very much,’ he replied.
    ‘But you enjoy being invited to dine out on occasion?’ Somehow the implication was that he was grateful for a bowl of free soup and a charity crust. What a subtly poisonous person the woman was, thought Ruth as Cesare Fonte said quie tl y, ‘More than Agnese does, yes.’
    After dinner there was a concerted move to a nightclub for a floor show and dancing. Cars were shared and Ruth went with her dinner partner. Erle signed in his big party; the youngsters took at once to the crowded dance-floor, while other people found tables, watching and chatting over their drinks.
    At their table for two Cesare Fonte said suddenly, ‘You must forgive me, signora , for failing to give you my whole name.’ He took out the place-card he had put in his pocket and showed its wording—‘Count Cesare Fonte’. ‘The truth is that my circumstances are such that I prefer not to use my title in my everyday affairs, and my friends, if not my acquaintances, understand this.’
    Not knowing quite what to reply, Ruth made a noncommittal murmur, and he went on, ‘You see, our hereditary titles are more common than are yours in England, and for a working man to bear one is no help to him. And so, for most purposes, I have dropped it. If I were to marry and my wife should wish to be known as Contessa, that would be different. I should agree, to please her. As it is, my sister and I live in a Casa to the east of the city, on the road to Tivoli. It is too big for us, but we need the grounds and the stables for my riding- school. That’s my work, you understand?’
    ‘I see,’ said Ruth. ‘Is your sister not married either?’
    ‘No. She keeps house for us both. She has some help in the house, and we both work in the gardens.’ He paused. ‘I should be very happy, signora , if you and your young guest would visit us one day?’
    Liking him for his frankness, Ruth said, ‘We’ll do that, if we may. I want my charge to see the Roman countryside as well as the city. I have the use of a little car, and we could drive out.’
    ‘Or if you know our host well enough, he might bring you when he comes himself. He keeps his own mount at my stables. That is how I know him. Do you ride yourself, signora ?’
    But before Ruth could tell him she didn’t, Erle was at their table, doing a host’s tour of his guests. ‘Neither of you is dancing?’ he asked, sharing the question between them.
    Cesare Fonte shook his head. ‘I am so bad that I haven’t dared to ask the signora ,’ he said.
    ‘Then may I borrow her?’ Erle turned to Ruth. ‘I’ve asked the band to play something that my generation understands, a waltz for preference. So will you join me?’
    To the strains of a waltz medley they went out on to the floor. Ruth, who hadn’t danced for a long time, moved hesitantly at first. But Erle ’s hand, hard upon her back, guided her expertly and he was patient with her until her feet and body took the rhythm confidently.
    She looked about her at the other dancers. ‘Where is Cicely ?’ she asked.
    ‘Probably star-gazing on the terrace thoughtfully provided by the management. With scarcely a word or two of Italian to her name, she has made some conquests, notably with one Zeppe Sforza, to whom I’ve given permission to see her home.’
    ‘Oh. Was that wise?’
    ‘Don’t worry. Zeppe’s father is a Royal Opera artiste, under contract to me, and I know the lad. I’ve given them a curfew of one a.m. which, with your permission, I’ll see that they keep. How do you like Cesare Fonte?’ Erle asked.
    “Very much.’
    ‘You found his lack of English no handicap?’
    ‘He understood my Italian. He tells me you ride, out at his riding-school, and suggested you might take Cicely and me over there one day.’
    ‘Good idea. I’ve been snowed under lately, and I’m in need of a